


(our love was) comfortable & so broken in

by serenitysea



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: F/M, Gen, Sharing Clothes, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, skye's inner thoughts are entirely too real, stealing clothes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-17
Updated: 2017-09-17
Packaged: 2018-12-30 16:02:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,835
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12112257
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/serenitysea/pseuds/serenitysea
Summary: a prompt from 2014 where someone demanded that skye steal ward's boxers. and then he finds out. chaos ensues.





	(our love was) comfortable & so broken in

**Author's Note:**

> WELL THEN.
> 
> LET THIS BE A CAUTIONARY TALE TO YOU ALL
> 
> _DON’T ANSWER PROMPTS FROM ~~2013~~ 2014._
> 
>  
> 
> set during a loose/early season one. pre-providence (obviously).

_month the first._

 

It happens easily enough. 

There’s laundry in the machine when she heads down to flip the wash and then there’s turbulence, and then –

– _then_. 

Then, there’s root beer splattered all over her favorite skinny jeans. (Her _only_ skinny jeans right now, considering she’d left the rest of the threadbare/truly horrific pairs crammed in a box in the back of her van somewhere.)

Obviously there’s no choice but to rummage through what’s finished in the dryer and find something to cover her lower half. 

…it’s really not her fault that the only thing in there happens to be all of Ward’s dark wash – and she certainly can’t wear his tac pants, now can she?

The boxers are black cotton. Hardly anything racy. 

And somehow she still feels a little thrill zip down her spine as she tugs them on. 

(Whatever. She’d always liked to break the rules.)

* * *

 

*

 _month the second_. 

Skye had every intention of slipping the boxers back in with the wash the next time Ward went down for his turn at the laundry. 

It’s just. 

…They’re _stupid_ comfortable. 

She wears them to sleep and they keep her cool and afford more room for movement when she’s having weird nightmares and she wakes up _gasping_ because something happened to Fitzsimmons or Coulson and –

– it’s cheaper than therapy. 

Clearly, she needs these boxers far more than Ward ever will.

She pulls them on with her rattiest tee shirt and curls under the blanket, and pretends like the stupid anklet tracker doesn’t bother her. 

(It doesn’t.)

(Mostly.)

( _…Miles was_ **so** _not worth this_.)

 

*

_month the third._

 

They touch down in Small Town America somewhere in the middle of the country, and she’s been put in charge of the Target run for supplies. 

Somehow it had gotten out that her speed shopping was not unlike _Supermarket Sweep_ and Coulson enjoyed timing her efforts. 

(He swore it had something to do with training her to become a better agent, but she personally thought he was just tired of dealing with the clueless public and wanted to eat Krispy Kremes in Lola where May couldn’t find the evidence.)

So when she gets to the men’s department, Skye doesn’t even register tossing in a few three-packs of black boxers, her mind already five steps ahead in the next aisle to pick up a new pair of novelty socks for Fitz and some Luna bars for Simmons. 

It isn’t until later when she’s about to hand the receipt to Coulson, that she realises _Ward_ would _never_ purchase nine plus pairs of boxers in one fell swoop and she full on panics. 

“I’ll hand this over in a sec, just have to make sure my,” she lifts her eyebrows with a slightly cough, making sure to look appropriately embarrassed, “personal items didn’t get mixed in with the order.” 

“ _Skye_.” Coulson sighs, putting them back on the road to the campgrounds where the rest of the team is waiting. “How many times do I have to remind you to _pay attention_ when you’re checking out so that you can keep your… _stuff_ separate?”

“Sorry, AC.” She ducks her head and lets the hair fall around her face while she works on doctoring the e-receipt to one pack of boxers instead of the four – _four???? was she out of her **mind**????_ – that she’d grabbed instead.

They make it back to the Bus without further reprimand and she emails him the receipt before they takeoff for their next mission.

(That night, she filches two more pairs from Ward’s laundry before he can collect it from the dryer.)

(Whatever. It’s not like he doesn’t _now_ have almost a dozen new pairs. He’ll never miss the ones she grabs.)

 

(… _is there a little alligator stitched into the hem on this pair_?)

 

*

 _month the fourth_.

 

It’s totally an alligator and damn if it isn’t the cutest thing she’s ever seen. 

(She doesn’t take any additional pairs that month.)

(Who would need them with this little dude to keep her company?)

*

 _month the fifth_.

 

The walls are thin. 

She knows where he’s sleeping at night and it’s not in his own bunk. 

She contemplates burning _all_ of his boxers but then figures that idea of Ward in Fitz’s tighty whities is a crime against humanity. 

Skye tells herself it’s a compromise with her emotions (vs. the aesthetic needs of humanity) that she knocks half a cup of bleach into the wash, turning the majority of his boxers into a weird, speckled mess. 

(Minus the pairs she has, naturally.)

After arming herself with coffee the following morning, she hacks the surveillance feed of the laundry room and has to muffle her howl of laughter into the pillow as they all tumble out of the washer at his feet. 

(It’s like a cow _died_. She’s never seen anything like it. Like a Pollack painting gone _so wrong_.)

(Hearing his frustrated stomp of outrage up the stairs is _totally_ worth it.)

*

 _month the sixth_. 

 

Almost dying really does take it out of you. 

She hates feeling weak, but has begun training again (much to Ward’s dismay) and is determined not to let anyone get the slip on her again. 

…Which is probably why it’s so ~~humbling~~ ironic when the fire alarms go off at 3AM, startling everyone awake but May (who never looked startled or ruffled, and was, incidentally, flying the Bus at the time.)

Skye stumbles out of her bunk, rubbing the sleep from her eyes and wondering why Fitzsimmons won’t stop gaping at her from where they stand huddled across the hallway. 

Then she hears Ward _yelp_ in alarm, and she jumps about three feet in the air. 

“Ward, what the _hell_?!” She glares.

“Skye,” Coulson quietly interrupts, “Is there something you’d like to share?”

She gives him a strange look. “Other than my complete and _utter frustration_ that we’re all standing here for no reason since there’s clearly no fire?”

“Besides the one in your pants,” Fitz mumbles under his breath. 

“ _Fitz_!” Simmons elbows him sharply, the force of which nearly knocking him into the wall. 

“Sir, I would like to state for the record that I had no idea this was going on –” Ward began, appealing to Coulson with a contrite expression on his face. 

“Clearly,” Skye scoffed, rolling her eyes and using one foot to scratch behind her other leg lazily. “Like _you_ would ever be so reckless and start a fire on the Bus.” 

“Ahem.” Coulson’s dry cough cuts off Ward’s frustrated reply. “I see you now have some answers about your missing… _personal effects_.” 

Ward looks deeply pained. 

Skye’s gaze bats between the two men, watching in fascination as a light flush colors Ward’s cheekbones. She feels like she’s missing something major right now but can’t, for the life of her, figure out what it could be.

“I think we can all go back to bed now,” Coulson finally says, directing a pointedly look at her and Ward. “ _Separately_.”

Now it’s Skye’s turn to flush. “ _AC_ ,” she hisses, wanting the floor to swallow her up whole – or at least to get flung out of the cargo hold at full speed.

He grins that satisfied little grin of his and herds Fitzsimmons back to the lab, gently ordering them to cease and desist with the flammable experiments after midnight and – 

Skye loses the thread of his conversation as she becomes suddenly aware of Ward’s eyes burning into her from the other side of the couch. “Dude. What is your _deal_?”

A strange flicker of emotions seem to fly over his features too quickly for her to catch them all ( _surpriseintriguesmugsatisfactionworryaffection_ ) as he arranges his expression into a poker face that gives nothing away. Before she can marvel at how quickly it happens, he leans a hip onto the couch and folds his arms comfortably. “Hey, Skye?”

“ _Yeah_ , Ward?” She raises both eyebrows, clearly annoyed.

“I’ve been wondering…”

“… _Yes_?” She’s more than a little irritated at the dramatic way he’s insisting on drawing this out – _this is_ **not** _a training lesson in the cargo hold, Robot_ – and she really just wants to go the _eff back to bed already_.

“How long have you been helping yourself to my boxers?” 

_Annnnd_ suddenly it all makes sense. 

She chokes on air, remembering belatedly to turn it into a cough at the last second. 

Fitz’s sarcastic remarks; Coulson’s insistence on decorum; Ward’s pressing need to reassure their boss that he didn’t know what was going on; – it takes everything she has not to look down and visually confirm which pair she happens to be sporting tonight. If there’s any justice in the universe, it’s just another plain pair that she could have swiped from _anyone_. There’s a chance that she can still get out of this with her pride in tact.

Except there’s a hint of a smirk flirting at Ward’s lips, and the sudden flow of charm is almost too much for her to handle. Skye grabs the wall for balance, mumbling something about turbulence. 

“I…” Skye trails off in alarm as Ward raises an eyebrow and steps closer, forcing her to step back uncertainly. “…Have no idea what you’re taking about.”

He nods, tapping his chin thoughtfully. “I had a feeling you might say something along those lines.” 

(She hates that he knows her this well.)

( _How does he know her this well_???)

“But then I noticed the little critter stitched on the right hem,” Ward reaches down, fingers ghosting over her leg ( _she nearly passes out then and there_ ), landing briefly on the trusty, grinning ( _betraying!!_ ) alligator. “And I realised that this was, in fact, the very same pair I’d been missing for weeks.” 

The silence that fills the air is palpable.

( _When, exactly, did her back get pressed against the wall?_ )

( _How did she not notice this?_ )

“Maybe I _like_ alligators,” Skye finally challenges, tilting her head up to look him in the eye. 

( _More importantly, when did he get so **close**_?)

“I bet you do,” Ward softly murmurs, giving the boxers a lightly playful tug. 

Skye is temporarily speechless. 

She’s certain he’s never been _this_ charming with her before and sternly orders herself to get a grip. 

She is _tough_. She’s looked death in the eye and kicked it in the face. She can certainly handle _this_.

(Even if _this_ version of Grant Ward – with his added layer of charisma – is hazardous to her health.)

“The difference between you and me, Ward?” Skye recovers, using the flat of both hands to shove him back, equally playful. She almost loses her nerve upon seeing the warmth banked in his eyes, but steels herself to keep going. “Is that I make these look _good_.” 

She pushes past him firmly and heads for her bunk with her head held high. 

Ward’s appreciative laughter follows, wrapping around like her the best kind of blanket as she drifts back off to sleep.

*

* * *

 

title from john mayer’s _comfortable_ aka one of my favorite songs in the entire world. 

**Author's Note:**

> I DON'T KNOW ANYMORE.


End file.
